My Sister's Ghost
by Elektra3
Summary: An exploration of one woman's guilt and envy. What was Petunia thinking when Harry was first shut in the cupboard beneath the stairs?


Another day, another interior monologue…

I've had my eye on a Petunia piece for quite awhile now, but I wasn't quite able to get a grip on her until now; her character was an absolute bitch to work with until it occurred to me the other day that her treatment of Harry (although I won't make any guarantees for Vernon or Dudley) seems to come more from a misguided desire to "save" him than from actual cruelty. It also helped when I noticed that she seems borderline obsessive-compulsive, which, when combined with an odd mix of jealousy and admiration for her prettier sister, makes for a "voice" (and a character) that was very interesting to work with. It came out more intense than I thought it would be (I actually cried when I was writing the rough draft) but I think you'll enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I might own a stuffed animal, an over-active imagination, and way too many books, but I don't own Harry Potter.

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"You spend your passion on a misprised mood."

William Shakespeare, _A Midsummer Night's Dream _

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Perhaps I'm being childish. Perhaps I'm being intolerant. Perhaps I'm being cowardly. Perhaps I'm being cruel. All I know is that the instant my nephew, left on my doorstep like a changeling, first woke up and fixed me with Lily's green eyes, I knew that this child would be his mother's son, and that he would die of his abnormality as his mother had if I didn't do something, and fast.

Lily. My sister. My beautiful, headstrong, too-wonderful sister. She died two years ago, and I still don't know if I miss her or if I want to slap her.

It's difficult to believe now, with all the bitter words that were exchanged and the years of silence, but there was a time when we were inseparable, two halves of a sisterly whole that even a year's age difference couldn't interfere with. We played together, made the same friends, slept in the same room, braided each others' hair, finished each others' sentences, walked with the same stride… Oh, there were arguments, but they always, always, ended in forgiveness. And if she was prettier than me, or if people always liked her better than the plain, prickly older sister, who cared?

Then came the letter.

That letter. That damned letter. That damned _school._ The owl delivered the message on her eleventh birthday, when the sun was shining and we were laughing together over some joke or another… That's when that bird, that blasted bird came swooping in and dropped the letter in her lap. No words were exchanged between us as she read it, but when I took one look at the glowing eagerness on her face, I knew that I had been replaced. I knew it. Lily might have still loved her sister, but one look at her face was all that I needed to tell me that she loved magic more. I didn't ask. I didn't have to. One look at her face was all the proof I needed.

Now I'm not so sure. But it's too late to say anything now.

With the coming of the letter, things that I'd always thought were unimportant gradually became more and more important. Like the way she hogged the covers at night. The way she never remembered to put the cap on the toothpaste. The way she sang off-key in the shower. The way she always pulled too tight whenever she braided my hair. The way I always had to help Mum with dinner, since Lily couldn't cook to save her life. Little things, gradually mutating into bigger ones. It wasn't _fair_ that she was prettier than me, that she was more popular than me, that her Christmas presents always seemed nicer than mine, that our parents always seemed to love her more than me. It wasn't _fair_ that she had magic, that she could do impossible things, that she could go off to that place, that _school_, and learn magic. It wasn't _fair_ that magic was going to take my sister away from me.

The breakdown of our relationship was subtle at first. A resentful glance here. A snide comment there. Bickering. Snarling. Not enjoying each others' company as much as we once did. Then viciousness began to take a broader scope, creeping into our lives until interaction had become just another excuse for anger and dinnertime was so chilly I'm surprised that the silverware didn't glaze with ice. Our surprised parents tried to make peace, but to no avail. Finally, matters came to a head when I walked in on Lily trying to levitate a book. To see magic being worked by strangely dressed people in that Diagon Alley place was one thing, to see my own sister doing was quite another. I froze in the doorway.

A month of coldness couldn't quite override years of sisterly love and concern. "What's wrong, Tuna?"

I couldn't stand the worry in her eyes. "I – " My wide-eyed gaze took in the still-hovering book. "I – " Finally, I managed to find my voice. "It's all so – _unnatural_."

Lily's eyes blazed. "Tuna, what's _wrong_ with you? Ever since I got my letter, you've acted like I'm a leper or something!"

"Me?" My voice rose an octave as the past month's suppressed frustrations burst out. "What's wrong with _me?_ At least _I'm_ not a freak going to a freak school!"

I'll never forget the shock on her face, the way she flinched back as though I had just struck her. In that instant, if I had apologized, if I had said even one thing that wasn't meant to hurt… Lily would have forgiven me. I know she would have.

But I said nothing.

Finally, her gaze lifted. Her face was pinched and shuttered, the way you would look at a stranger that you didn't particularly want to meet, and she said, "Get out of my room."

Not our room any longer.

And as I lie in bed tonight, listening to the muffled sobs coming from the cupboard beneath the stairs, I can only hope that Harry's magic can be stamped out before it's too late, before he turns eleven and goes off to that… that… _school_, where he'll learn how to do magic until it chokes him, and I refuse to let Lily's son suffer the same fate as his mother. Because magic is not some glorious thing to be prized, whatever the storybooks say. Magic is a poison. Magic is a disease. It sucks its victims in with sweet promises, and then it kills them. Oh, yes, _fine_ that Lily was Head Girl, that she fell in love and was treated to a fairy tale of a marriage, but it didn't last, did it? _It didn't last._ None of these things, however nice, could save her, and _it's all magic's fault_. No, I won't let Harry make the same mistakes his mother did, and have magic. Magic took my sister away from me; magic killed her. And if making a three-year-old boy sleep in a cupboard seems cruel, it's worth it if I can only save him from his own abnormality. Maybe then my sister's ghost will stop haunting me.


End file.
